


Cowardice

by speakertone



Category: Macbeth - Shakespeare
Genre: Banquo Commits A Crime. Technically., Canon Compliant, Canon Era, M/M, comedic tone but with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:15:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22529965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speakertone/pseuds/speakertone
Summary: Macbeth was not, in any way, a cowardly man.Macbeth was the first soldier to dive headfirst into battle and the last to strategize beforehand.And yet Macbeth was afraid of Banquo.
Relationships: Banquo (Macbeth)/Macbeth
Comments: 1
Kudos: 26





	Cowardice

Macbeth was not, in any way, a cowardly man.

Macbeth was the first soldier to dive headfirst into battle and the last to strategize beforehand. He thought best on his feet and he liked his feet running. His decisions, his actions, everything right down to the words that came out of his mouth were a product of lightning fast wit and skill- skill that any man would kill to have. All this to say that, no, he was not one to feel fear.

And yet Macbeth was afraid of Banquo.

Well no, that’s not quite right. He wasn’t afraid of Banquo in the way a knight might fear a dragon. He was afraid of Banquo in the way that a knight might fear a friend. A friend that he was far too close to. A friend that, perhaps, bordered a little on non-friend-like behavior. A friend that had a wife, just like the knight did, but would still hold him by the waist and give him this lovely sort of smile- one that has his eyes crinkle and is usually accompanied by an incredibly jovial laugh and an arm wrapped tight around his shoulder.

Yes, that sort of fear.

•••

“Do you think,” Macbeth starts, kicking a large rock aside and startling a few birds in the overgrowth, “She’s a fair bride?”

“I’ve met her before,” Banquo says back, walking just a step faster than Macbeth. His hand is on the hilt of his sword and while his mouth wanders, his eyes stay focused and clear. “She’s lovely, truly lovely, if not a tad tough on her peers.”

“Just a tad? No reason to favor her if it’s just between friends. Please, let’s keep the pleasantries for the dinner table.”

“Good sir, I am not a liar, and I have no plans to start now.”

“No offense taken if you choose to be harsh, Banquo. She certainly makes up for her height in presence- unless, of course,” Macbeth laughs. “You’re jealous.”

The hunting party of two freezes dead in its tracks. Banquo allows a feeble, half-meant laugh slip past his lips.

“Jealous? Of your… No- no, sir. A foolish thought. I couldn’t be. You’re- well… you… we-“

Macbeth waved him off and continues walking, shoulders hunched forward in contrast to the smile on his face. “Aye.”

•••

Macbeth watches as his friend pries and pokes around in his private chambers, hand on his sword as it always is, though the area is secure enough. Banquo kneels and peers under his bed as though a witch might be peering back- Macbeth grins.

“Paranoid, my good sir?”

“You can never be too safe,” is the biting reply.

“Sit down already- here,” Macbeth says, clearing an area next to him on the bed, “if you’re afraid of wicked witches, I’ll have you know they’re not real.” 

Banquo scoffs at him, throws his head back and does sit down, albeit a bit further than Macbeth would have him sit. “You can never be too sure- ah, don’t give me that look, sir, I only jest. Nevertheless, you don’t value privacy enough. Prefer to have conversations out where the world can hear.”

“What do you think we’ll talk about that needs so much privacy? Even my wife, try as she might, can’t come down here.”

“And I?”

“You’re a different case.”

“Different?” Banquo says. Something in his voice shifts. “In what way?”

The ernest delivery of the question gives Macbeth pause- he turns to look at his friend, wide-eyed and clutching at the sheets like a child. There’s a spark in that moment, something brushing past both of them and striking them with white-hot heat- perhaps that’s why they both go red.

“You’re my…” (his tongue edges on the word friend, but Macbeth is not a liar either) “...partner. My partner through everything.”

“Not your friend?”

“No,” Macbeth says wistfully. “No. If only.”

•••

Banquo, some have observed, isn’t talkative. A good conversationalist, sure, given that he doesn’t start the conversation, but all that aside, he speaks less with his tongue and more with his eyes, the curve of his lips, his hands.  
That being said, he grabs Macbeth by the arm and has him duck behind a column for cover in his home, the nerve, his visit, the grabbing, all such being entirely unexpected. If Macbeth hadn’t caught the quick flash of his beloved assailant’s cloak he’d have half a mind to kill him on the spot.

“Banquo, what on earth-?”

“It’s some matter of great urgency, I can assure you.”

“Then out with it,” Macbeth says hurriedly, although, after a beat, another thought occurs to him. “How did you get in? I was under the impression that our castle was secure.”

“Don’t concern yourself with such tripe,” is the mindless response- of course Macbeth knows this man terribly well and recognizes the jingle of silver coins somewhere on his person. 

“Good god, to sink so low as to bribe your way into the home of a man you know!” He smiles, stifles a laugh. Over-cautious then, as always. He can picture him giving it too much thought, frightened for the gossip- as though men don’t talk. “Quickly then, what’s this business?”

“I’ve come to a realization.”

“...Yes?”

Without the initial fear that something had gone terribly wrong, Macbeth finds that he can now give Banquo a good looking over- for no particular reason, of course. He’s wearing dark clothes, riding clothes, given the cloak. His boots are scuffed and muddy, so he must have been out a while, and in quite a hurry too. Making his way up his body, he lands at last on Banquo’s face, ruddy from the cold, hair disheveled, soft eyes pointedly looking anywhere but at him. This sets Macbeth on an uneasy trail- surely this panic, if not brought on by a death, must come from- no, he won’t entertain the thought.

“Oh,” Banquo says, startling him out of his reverie. “I’m terribly sorry, sir, if I’ve interrupted-”

“No, nothing.”

“That’s good then,” he says, unsettled. He shuffles around and turns to lean on the column. “If you need to leave-”

“Banquo, I mean no disrespect, but there is nothing that troubles me more than not knowing what realization you’ve come to.”

“No disrespect taken, certainly.”

“Well then?”

“Forgive me for being forward, sir, but I do think-” he swallows, eyes shut tight, “I do fear that I may feel something rather… unorthodox for you, and it is wholly improper of me to do so, of course, given our situations. I’ve considered all this on the journey here. I don’t expect you to do anything, although I dearly hope you’ll let me live. If you’ll let me, I’ll take my leave- unless, of course you’d like to discuss this further, in which case I’ll gladly stay at your disposal... ”

Macbeth opens his mouth to get a word in edgewise, but Banquo continues babbling nonsense.

Now, while Macbeth was not cowardly, he certainly was sensible. He might charge into battle headfirst, but only ever battles he’s certain he will win.

He catches Banquo’s eye and, in an instant, he’s sure that this is a guaranteed victory.

Macbeth takes a step forward and holds Banquo’s face in his hands like a war-prize, kisses him like rainfall, and sighs like mist. There’s nothing better than this, truly, and if the hands that find themselves on his waist are any indicator, then his friend- or, rather, partner- feels the same way. He pulls back.

“Unorthodox feelings,” Macbeth teases and chuckles lightly. 

•••

Macbeth was not, in any way, a cowardly man.

This, surely, was why he insisted on going to fortify Banquo’s estates so frequently. How selfless, to offer his own life to benefit a dear war friend. How brave, how courageous, to put himself in harm’s way as he does and not care for the consequences.

No, Macbeth was not one to feel fear. 

The rumors insist that he never will.

**Author's Note:**

> i swear to god im gonna post fanfic for this real shitty version of macbeth. im gonna post fanfic for macbeth 2005 next i swear to god. watch this space. AHAHAHAHA


End file.
